Touch and Go
by DawnRiots
Summary: When did I become honest? When did I begin to speak the truth of my hearts desires? Does being blind and deaf do this to you? No, not even now do I dare to think of what I really want. It echoes inside me and I do not dare put a name to it.. SLASH AU
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Touch and go  
**Author**: CreativeAngel  
**Author Email**: Enzymbia AtYahoo . Com (For some reason, you must put it together yourself, keeps deleting half.)  
**Genre: **Slash, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, Angst  
**Rating**: R. If you are beneath 16 years of age, please call your mother to make sure you are allowed to read not-too-graphic gay-porn. Or your father. Preferably on a day when he's drunk. Though I didn't tell you that.  
**Disclaimer**: I am JKR. That's why I write fanfiction. Yup. Sure. Darn Polyjuice Potion, brew faster:glares at Snape:  
**Summary**: When did I become honest? When did I begin to speak the truth of my hearts desires? Does being blind and deaf do this to you? No, not even now do I dare to think of what I really want. It echoes inside me and I do not dare put a name to it when I don't know how he feels. (HP/DM)  
**Warnings**: Slash, Sexual Content, Adult Language, Depression, Suicide (attempts, at least)  
**Authoress Ramble**: Oh, hello. Are you back here? Well… This is my last attempt of making something sort-of serious in from of a completed fanfiction. If things proceed as I want them to, this will be approximately 20-25 chapters long. This time around I have decided to return to writing short chapters (up to 3000 words) instead of long chapters as in my precious fanfiction where a chapter went up to above 5000 words). I have a feeling of that this is going to be one of the shortest chapters, as it is not much more then 1200 words. I don't have a Beta, but if you would like to Beta for me, leave your email and I'll contact you. Tell me how fast you can return a 3000 words long chapter. I want you to be between 0 and 48 hours.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE 

_You hide your feelings so well  
__I'm not sure I want you to know  
__Tough there's so much to tell  
__That every day is a touch and go_

_Touch and go _– Sanna Hendriksson

Touch. Fingertips tracing my skin. I know his hands. The slight cold of his nails, the flawless skin on that scar between his thumb and middle finger. There's a roughness to the skin that makes me shiver sometimes. He knows how to touch; he knows how to speak. Letters traced on my skin, sometimes symbols that I swear he's made up himself, because a bird cannot be made that way.

_Hi, how are you today?_

'Fine, thanks,' I say, hoping desperately that my voice sounds low and normal.

_You sound tired_.

I never knew how much a voice could tell until after … after _It_. It's a whole different world now, a world solely based on touch, feel, smell and taste. It's quite different when one is used to be in the middle of everything. Strangely enough, he is the only one that bothers to visit me. Not one of the others cares. Sure the days before a holiday can be crowded, at least it feels so, compared to the stillness of every other day.

_What are you thinking of?_

'You,' I say honestly. When did I become honest? When did I begin to speak the truth of my hearts desires? Does being blind and deaf do this to you? No, not even now do I dare to think of what I really want. It echoes inside me and I do not dare put a name to it when I don't know how he feels.

_Why?_ He asks, fingers tracing the word into the skin on my arm. It's rare these days. He's becoming quite good at it, not bothering to spell out every word like he used to. He makes them shorter, using only a few consonants, yet when his fingers trace my skin I can tell how his handwriting looks like. He never writes fluently, he scribbles. Fast, now that I've learned to recognize his letters.

'I don't know, Potter,' I snap, suddenly annoyed by his presence. 'I'm sick of this place! I'm sick of being locked in! I'm not insane, for Merlin's sake, I'm just blind and deaf!'

His fingertips twitch. He is not used to this. I rarely lash out and I've stopped calling him by his last name. It's quite useless when one has been where he has. Once again, I do not think about it. I push it away, urgent to hide whatever the world has to bring me on that front.

_I know, I'm tired of it too,_ he says leaving me wondering what the fuck he meant. _Be right back_.

His fingertips move away from me, the air suddenly brushing my skin as I imagine him walking away from me. Soon I feel the smell of the nurse. I don't know her name; she never speaks to me. Actually, Harry is the only one that speaks with me. Oh, my former friends come by. The hold my hand and I feel their voices against my skin. I don't know what they say, tough, because they never let Harry translate for them. I get out of bed when I feel the small thud that means the door closed. It's quite remarkably how much sound you can feel if you are open to it. I feel small waves against my back, which means the nurse is talking loudly and rapidly. I wonder why she's upset and I ask her. No answer comes back, but a hand guides me to my clothes and I sense the material of a robe beneath my fingers.

'What colour?' I ask, because even if you're deaf and blind, you can't afford to look sloppy.

She guides my hand to the nametag where they have written the colour. _Blue_. I know how the robes look, though I've never seen them. I know how the nurse looks, small, fat and hair in tight curls. I smell the perm sometimes, that's how I know. Her hands are fat, fingers short. She smells disinfectant and a bit like lavender. I hate both smells. After spending two years at St Mungo's I'm quite fed up with the place.

My room is exactly four steps wide and ten steps long. The door is in the short end of the room, to the right of my bed. From the left, I feel something warm my skin, so I assume there's an enchanted window with a heating spell. Done quite nicely, if someone should ask me. They don't though. There's a small bathroom and a shower to the right of the door that suddenly is pulled open. Harry's arms wrap around me and he swings me while I yell at him to stop and tell me what's going on.

_You can go! Go home, I mean._

'Home?' I ask, trying to sound sarcastic. I can practically _feel_ him blushing. Oh, sweet torture, how thou defile my heart.

_I mean. I thought. You could. But maybe. _

'Stop stuttering, Potter!' I snap, apparently quite loudly, because his fingers jump.

_Come home with me? _He trances a small building on my arm to symbolise home. _I mean, not for always, just for the weekend. It's Friday today and I'm off work. _

'You work?' I ask, never having thought of him doing else then getting O's in Defence Against the Dark Arts and failing miserably at Potions.

_I'm working with the twins, remember? _

'They let you into a joke shop?'

I try, I try really hard not to sound surprised. He must have told me, but I've forgotten. It's quite handy to think that people never move on from what you think they are. For me, the last memory of seeing Harry is a scrawny, black haired boy with pants at least four or five sizes too large and glasses that constantly get in the way when you try to – I shut my mind of there. Nox. Never mind, never mind, the sky is blue. Denial is a strong tool, did you know?

_Draco?_

Oh, yes. He uses that sign again. That sign that has come to represent my name. Three fingers pressed into my arm, the middle finger bent in from the first knuckle. I asked him once where he came up with that and he told me that it just reminded him of the head of a dragon statue that he saw in a Muggle restaurant as a child. I asked him how that could be, but he couldn't explain.

_Draco? Would you come with me? _

I nod, too occupied by my thoughts to notice what I've agreed to until it's too late. I'll be going to Potter's place. A place where I've never been. I freak out. He notices.

_It's okay. I'll show you where everything is. Though I should go home to clean, or you'll trip on all my stuff._

'Messy Harry,' I snigger. For a moment I feel him leaning over me and I wonder what he's about to do, but then his body heat pulls back and disappears. For some reason it hurts somewhere inside.

_I'll be back in ... four hours or so. Pack for a lazy weekend at home._

I smile and nod and he squeezes my hand before he leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authoress Ramble: **Look! I've updated already! I'm not sure I've spelled everything correctly, but I do use Mocrosoft Word with spelling-what-ever-it's-called. Anyone who would like to Beta for me should email me. For everyone that wants to be put up on an mail-list for this fic, you should email me (email found in the begining of the first chapter), since for some reason, takes away all and such so I can't recieve your email by review. Thank you for reading and remember to review! Some questions shall be answered in the comming chapters and a few today. I should mention that signed/spelled conversation _is written in italics_. I should also mention that I'm only a beginer at Signed English (though I already know it better then Signed Swedish).

* * *

CHAPTER 2

_trace my skin with light fingertips  
brush your lips against my skin  
breathe in the hollow of my neck  
kiss me with your sweet scent  
of white roses_

_and I'll surrender completely_

_Surrender_ - Sanna Hendriksson

When I feel the thud of the door again, I let a smile play openly on my face. The nurse has left and I finger the robe that lies on the chair. Taking the three diagonal steps to my closet, I fumble for a bag. I pack a casual robe, which according to the tag is black, a pair of trousers, two shirts and pyjama bottoms. Leaving the bag on the chair that Potter usually sits in and I head for the bathroom. Six steps to the door and three to the left. Cold tiles against my fingertips, fifteen, sixteen; stop. When I realize I didn't stab my toe on the shower cubicle I grin. I search for the towel with my left hand and find it rather quickly.

Do you appreciate all the stuff you can do? I do. It took me months after It to learn to count while walking or even while talking. I've been here for two years now, in a small room that Harry describes as boring, on the fourth floor of St Mungo's. I remember there being a sign saying _Spell Damage_ when my father took me here as a child. Five-year-olds shall not try to cast a _Vingardium Leviosa_. So of course I had to try.

I turn the water on, undress and step into the shower. There's no lock on the bathroom door, but I've learned not to care. It's for my own safety, they say. What if I'd trip and hit my head? They could use an _Alohomora_, I suppose, but they don't want the lock there. Once there was a lock, but then I had this … accident … with a really strong sleeping potion and a knife. Harry wasn't happy at all. I remember feeling his hands shake and then wet stains on my quilt after he had left. I think he cried. Why I can't understand.

We have a funny relationship, Harry and I. Whatever the kind of relationship. Harry comes here to see me nearly every day. He's a constant bringer of information about the ward, the weather, Quidditch, Hogwarts, life itself, the trials of the former Death Eaters. It's been two years and my father has not been convicted yet. They cannot provide with enough proof, even though I've offered to testify against him. Apparently, deaf and blind people in the wizarding society have no rights. What a pity. I could have sent my father to face the _Avada Kedavra_ within an hour.

I fumble for the shampoo and smile again. If I can handle this weekend at Harry's, then maybe I can, in a few months time, handle an own apartment. It's quite strange how much of a patience you grow when you're no longer able to blur around. Harry says that's a made-up expression, but I think I have heard it somewhere. Anyhow, when regual people talk, walk and live, it's all fast, fast, fast. I can't live that way. For me, learing to make an omelet doesn't take three eggs, an hour and then it's done. No, I think it took me a couple of days. Maybe because I've never cooked before. How does an omelet smell when it's done? How do you chop carrots for your soup when you can't see or hear? Now, I'm quite thankful that I taught myself that, to the surprise of everyone around me.

I turn the water of and reach out for the towel, quickly drying off and then couting the tiles, the steps, back to my bed and the blue robes. A hand materializes from the room and tap my shoulder, making brushing movements in my hair. This is the kind of communication that I have. I can't write, becuase I can't see when I've run out of ink. They don't speak my language, that would be signing on skin. They just make sure I know what's about to come.

'Wait a moment,' I say, letting my voice come from somewhere down in my throat. Then I pull the robes on, figting with every little button. The nurse from earlier wants to help, but I push her hands away.

Sometimes it bothers me that someone can show up from the middle of nothing and tap my shoulder, but this ward is a familiar space and I know everyone here. Gilderoy is still here, as are the Longbottoms. Gilderoy used to show up in my room sometimes when I first got here. I recognized him because he constantly pushed photos in my hands.

The world outside scares me. I haven't left the hospital in two years and I wonder what I'll find out there. Where does Harry live? How long will it take me to learn to locate myself in his appartment? Does he really realize what it's like to be me? Tough I'm thinking all of this, I force myself to calmness, force myself to not fidget. I easily begin to fidget. Father hated when I did and I learned to not use all my body when fidgeting. I'll tap my fingers against my tigh or against the other arm. It worked out well when I could see and hear, but now I never know if anyone's around and if I could use my whole body or not.

The chair's quite uncomfortable when I sit and I remember the bag on it, but it doesn't matter because the nurse is all ready combing my hair. She's energic, this nurse who I have known for two years and do not have a name for. It feels good to have my hair brushed and I smile into what I suppose is nothing.

Two hours later, Harry Potter arrives to take me out in the world, once again. The return of one Draco Malfoy has begun. He walks on my right and I'm holding his arm while he signs into my palm.

_I bet this is going to be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. Headlines: DRACO MALFOY SEEN HAND IN HAND WITH HARRY POTTER!_

I giggle and smile at him. Then we are outdoors and he's no longer talking with me. We head down a street and two or three blocks away he urges me to turn right, making the sign for descending stairs. It's good that we have moved around like this before, though in the hospital.

_Bus. Ticket. Wait. _The words come quickly and he puts my hand on cold metal to then disappear.

I begin to get nervous and clutch my bag tightly when people bump into me. It takes a while before his hand is on my neck, spelling the word _queue_. When we've gotten on the bus it suddenly hits me and I begin to spell rapidly in his hand. I rarely do, but I have a feeling we are among Muggles.

_We're heading for Muggle London, are we not? _

_Yes, _he taps, _I live about two miles west of Diagon Alley._

_And I'm wearing robes._

He strokes my hand and I feel him laughing. _Yes, they do look at us rather oddly. But it's all right, I think we're used to be looked oddly at. _

_Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Holding hands. _

Even I have to giggle. The motor vibrations of the bus make me sleepy and I lean my head on his shoulder. It feels good to have him there. He pats my hand and I doze off, one hand in his, on a bus, on the way to a unfamiliar place, somewhere in London.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authoress Ramble**: Hello, ppl! Here's chapter 3. For those that wants to be put on my emailing list, please email me at enzymbia (at) Yahoo (dot) se.

* * *

CHAPTER 3

Harry's hand gently shook me awake a while later and he made the sign for step against my neck. I smiled as we stepped out of the bus, walking on the pavement. The sun warmed my skin and the wind ruffled my hair. Harry was spelling in my hand, mostly telling me about descending steps and left, right, left. The feelings of people's energies on my skin made me want to laugh.

_You're having fun, right?_

I nodded, missing a step down and stumbling. Harry grabbed my arm tightly and I had to lean on him not to fall. The smell of Harry's neck and the warmth of his body made me shiver and I pulled back. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, away! To have Harry touching me seemed to become more of a challenge now that I was completely, utterly dependent on him.

_Are you okay?_

It wasn't all right. It would never be. I'd always be this dependent on someone, supposedly Harry, since it was only Harry that bothered to speak with me. I took a deep breath and nodded.

_We're soon there. Now up these stairs. Seventeen steps. _

I counted them, mostly unconsciously. He put my hand against a stonewall and let go of me. It's nice when people do that. The nurses used to just let me go and that was scary. It's sort of like being chucked out into space and you don't know what's going on, you don't know what's going to happen and you're all alone. Once a nurse left me at the top the stairs and I fell down, hitting my head pretty badly. So much for the theory that I might see or hear again if something hit me hard enough. Bastards. Then his hand is back on my arm and he guides me inside. I assume it's the door that makes the floor vibrate.

_The door always does that_, Harry signs, as if he'd known what I thought. _You'll know if I go and if someone comes to visit. I can feel that vibration from my bed._

I'm concentrating hard on not thinking about Harry, bed and vibration – and I'm failing miserably. Then I shut my thoughts of, because you can't go there. You can't go wondering of with your mind when you're in a new place. Especially when you're thinking of – _nox_.

_Shoes and coats to the right_, Harry says, _a small table about two steps forward and to the left._

'You need to show me where everything is, as precisely as you can,' I say, 'and I need to count the steps myself.'

So we begin. It's a small apartment, but it's still large enough to take three hours. I use the door as my counting point, as I've used my bed in St Mungo's. Fifteen steps forward and there's the bathroom door, two steps to the left of that the bedroom door, a step right of the bathroom door and the living room area. Two sofas to the left, table in front of it, low, try not to hit legs. Ten steps back against the door, but with a wall between, right, kitchen with a counter, table in living room, two chairs. And so we go on until I know the space as my own pocket.

_Want something to eat?_ Harry asks.

Nodding, I turn and walk over to the sofa, sighing as I sit down. It's late and I know it. My mind is whirling with all the information. I'm dozing when Harry presses a sandwich into my hand and signs on my neck.

_Glass of water in front of you, on the table. _

'Good, I hate milk,' I say and take a bite of the sandwich. Chicken. Finally someone that knows how to cook! In St Mungo's I'll only get corned beef. Bleergh.

_You look tired_, Harry says. _But you're beautiful when you're tired._

Yes, I'm tired and I want – wait! Did I hear him correctly? Did he just say I am beautiful? Me? Skinny guy, blond hair, way too pale skin to look healthy, pointy face, thin nose? I am not beautiful.

'What?' I say calmly, silently cursing my stomach that just dropped two floors. 'Beautiful?'

Beautiful. I wish … 

'What?'

_I wish you could see yourself. _

Oh, Harry, what a fatal thing to say. Did you have to spoil the moment? I eat the last of my sandwich, drink the water and then turn to him, where he's sitting next to me on the sofa. The heat of him touches my skin as I concentrate really, really hard on him. And no, not that way. I slip my hand into my pocket and touch my wand, urging it to trickle energy all over Harry. I can sense him and his movements better this way.

_Wh-_

'Shh,' I whisper and reach out to touch his face. My fingers ghost the bridge of his nose and I notice it's slightly bent, as if once broken. Then I realize he's changed glasses. They're no longer round and taped together as the last time I actually saw him. These glasses are rectangular. I hold his face in my arms, his breath tracing my palm. I nearly lose myself when I trace his lips. Don't go there, don't go there, I scream to myself and pull back.

I think I feel a little sigh from Harry right before I do, but I can't decide if it's disappointment or relief.

'What's time like?' I ask in what I hope is a low voice.

_Nearly eleven,_ Harry says and rises.

'Where will I sleep?' I voice the fear of my heart. It takes a good while before Harry returns. The boards of the floor sink and fall with every step he takes and I turn my head to that direction.

_In my bed. I'll sleep on the sofa. _

I don't like it. I hadn't expected anything, but this arrangement I detest. I don't say that, though. I just walk out to the entrance, get my bag and head for the bedroom. When I am about to close the door I shiver. It's like I can feel him watching me.

And when I finally climb in between the sheets, I cry myself to sleep. It hurts to be so dependent, it hurts to be at his mercy and it hurts to be so close to him when I can't get what I want. At that moment I realize what I want – and I admit it.

_Harry._


	4. Chapter 4

**Authoress Ramble**: Now, I've decided that I should answer two frequently asked questions that people email me with: 1/ _YES_, both Sirius and Voldemort are _DEAD _and they will _STAY DEAD. _2/ You will find out what happened to make Draco blind and deaf - probably in chapter 5 or 6. This chapter is much longer then the previous three, mostly because I had so much fun writing it. When signed _and_ spoken language is used it is written like this: "_Hello!_"

* * *

CHAPTER 4

I wanted to say something  
wanted to do something  
but words failed me  
and actions were not enough

So I give in and speak  
the words that  
fails to express  
the complecity of my feelings

_I love you_

Words Failed Me - Sanna Hendriksson

Harry turned and buried his head against the sofa. He could hear Draco crying. He didn't know why Draco was crying, but he did realize that Draco didn't know Harry could hear him. His mind whirled back to that moment. He had thought that Draco would kiss him. He had wanted Draco to kiss him. But nothing.

The two years that had passed had been good on Draco, Harry thought. The now nineteen-year-old boy had gained weight and his hair had taken a darker blond shade. They had both grown up from the scrawny teenagers they had been when leaving Hogwarts. Of course, Draco had left about a month before Harry, being hospitalised directly after the banishment of Voldemort. They had not met again until September that year and by then, Draco was deaf, blind and unable to have a two-way-conversation.

Sighing, Harry turned back to face the room. The streetlights spilled their light in through the curtains. To be honest, Harry had no idea about what to do with Draco. Had it been anyone else, he'd been suggesting the telly, but in Draco's case that would be quite useless.

Slowly, the sounds of sobs quieted and Harry assumed that Draco had fallen asleep. He flipped over on is back. Draco's hands still traced Harry's face and he closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, Draco was leaning against him, grey eyes so oddly empty, yet a face full with life. The lips of his imaginary Draco parted and Harry had to swallow when he pictured Draco wetting them.

The next time Harry opened his eyes was when his alarm clock went off in the bedroom, his back hurt, the sunshine was way too sharp (who ever got the stupid idea of placing the sofa right there?) and he had a hard on. Harry growled, fell back onto the sofa and promptly hit his head. He wondered why Draco didn't shut the alarm off and then remembered that Draco was probably still sleeping. Why hadn't Harry remembered to turn that stupid, stupid alarm off last night? It was only seven, for Merlin's sake!

When the bleeping became too much for Harry, he stumbled up from the sofa, instantly reminded about the hard on and cursing under his breath he made his way to the bedroom. The sight there did however not improve Harry's day. There lay Draco, curled into a small ball, on his side. His lips were parted and he drooled slightly, blond hair falling over his face. Since Draco didn't know had a window with morning sun and that the curtains should be pulled shut to prevent the light from steaming into the room, he had no idea that this light was making it very _hard_ for Harry to breathe. The young man in the bed looked so peaceful, so much like a painting that Harry wanted to touch him to make sure he was real.

He had to shake his head hard and watch the still loudly bleeping alarm clock to be reminded of what the heck he really had gone there for. Unfortunately for Harry, he would have to cross the room and stand right next to Draco's face to turn it of. Walking as quickly and lightly as possible he had almost reached the off-button when Draco stirred, his unfocused eyes opening slightly before he turned to lie sprawled on his back and fell asleep again. Harry pressed the button and then cursed himself for pressing it. In the immediate silence that followed, he could hear himself breathing way too loudly.

Finally returning to the safety of the sofa, Harry closed his eyes and tried his best to relax. It didn't work so well, because the only thing his mind could really focus on was Draco sprawled on his back. So Harry, thoughtful enough to not want to mess his sofa up, decided to head for the shower. Which, again, wasn't very well planned for, since he had washed all the towels yesterday and put them in the linen closet - which was in his bedroom.

Constantly aware of The Hard On That Wouldn't Die, he rose again, slowly opened the bedroom door and almost had a heart attack at the sight. Draco was clearly dreaming, his face a bit flushed, hands clenching the sheets. Turning his eyes to stare at the linen closet, he took the four or five steps, quickly got himself a towel and had almost closed the door when Draco moaned softly. Now having had a hard on for a good while, that was enough to make Harry practically run for the shower.

After a long shower, Harry decided that going back to sleep wasn't an option. He walked over to the kitchen and smiled. The whole apartment was for once clean. Had Draco not been the one visiting, Harry would never have bothered to clear the table from the twenty old cups, nor would he have picked all dirty clothes off the floor. It wasn't that Harry was a slob; he preferred the term untidy. For once able to take a cup out of the cupboard, he began to make toast and strong tea.

An hour and a half later, a drowsy Draco stumbled in and dropped down on a chair. It was not the Draco Harry was used to see, the Draco with every hair straw on place and dark robes. This was a Draco in loose pyjama bottoms with flowers on, his hair in a mess, a little bit of dried drool on his cheek. Harry instantly liked this Draco better. Though if it was because Draco had no shirt or another reason, he couldn't decide.

'Food,' Draco muttered, 'and tea. Strong. No sugar.'

Harry pressed a cup of tea into Draco's hand and put a plate of toast on the table.

_Slept well?_ He signed on Draco's shoulder and got grunt in return. _Toast at eight o'clock. _

'Thanks,' Draco mumbled and attacked the plate. 'What's time like?'

_About nine. I thought I should to do some baking today. But I need groceries. _

Draco chocked at the words baking. 'Bake? You, Potter? Baking is like Potions and you suck at Potions!'

_Then it's good you're here, huh? Besides, I don't have Snape over my shoulder now._

'Bet he's haunting you. Merlin, real food. You're a God, Harry.'

Harry promptly turned beet red.

After Harry had done the dishes and Draco had gotten dressed (honestly, he just peeked _once_!), Harry took Draco's arm and they headed for the store. The sun that had teased Harry earlier had decided to turn into heavy, dark clouds that threatened to burst open and drench the world. Which would be a shame, since the world consisted of Draco in a pair of black trousers and a blue shirt.

_It's going to rain, _Harry commented.

'Finally!' Draco exclaimed, beaming. 'I haven't felt rain in two years.'

_By the look of it, it's not going to rain cats and dogs, Draco. It's going to be raining hippogriffs, and we all know that you love hippogriffs. _

'Shut up.'

By the time they were done with the shopping ('You say they don't have dragonliver? Poor Muggles!') and were heading back to Harry's apartment, it did rain hippogriffs. It was as if someone, probably related with Fred and George Weasley, had taken an extremely large bucket, filled it with water and turned it upside down over London. Draco was grinning, Harry was brooding and they were both soaked to the skin.

Harry unpacked the groceries while Draco changed into the only thing he had left, which was his robe. When Draco walked into the kitchen, Harry grinned.

_You could borrow my clothes if you don't want to wear robes._

'I'm a wizard, Harry. I wear robes. You wear strange Muggle clothes.'

_You wore pants and a sweater just a few moments ago!_

'That's different. They're bought in Diagon Alley.'

_Snob._

'Are you always that slow?'

They decided to make bread. Draco whined about Harry having to read the recipe and a few minutes later the sign of cursing that Harry had made up greeted him. In a moment of pure impishness, Draco put his hands on Harry's hips, leaned forward and whispered in his ear,

'Which part of the recipe did you forget to read, Mr Potter?'

Harry's temperature rose to the height of Mount Everest, but he managed to free a hand from the dough that was clearly lacking _something_. After washing his hands, Draco's hands still steadily on his hips, he signed on Draco's neck.

_Stop doing that._

He dark haired wizard quickly regretted the words when Draco's face fell and the hands disappeared from his hips.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' Draco said in a shrill voice. 'I didn't mean to -'

_No, not like that... _Harry signed furiously, now in Draco's hands. _I just meant that you should stop teasing me. _

'Teasing?'

_You - uh -_ All right, Harry tought, I've screwed up. _You nearly kissed me last night, right?_

'Oh,' Draco smiled. 'Yes.'

_And then I forgot to turn my alarm clock off, so I had to do that at seven this morning._

'I thought I felt someone in the room, but I'm so used to the nurses running back and forth.'

_And then I had to take a shower and I had no towel and I had to get it from the bedroom and..._

'And what, Harry?'

_You were - uh - dreaming... _

A confused frown was replaced when Draco's mouth turned into an O and he blushed furiously.

'I - uh - I -'

_Just please, do _something_, because this is sheer torture._

So Draco did do something. He put his hands back on Harry's hips, pulled the man closer to him and kissed him. Every tought that Harry might or might not had about the baking, about the weather, about Draco, about anything, disappeared.

The next time he knew his surroundings was when the frontdoor slamed closed and a female voice was calling his name. At that point, he remembered why he had been trying to bake and what kind of Saturday it was. Draco, though, just jumped at the vibration and then frowned, his hands still firmly on Harry's hips.

"_Hermione,_" Harry said and signed at the same time.


	5. Chapter 5

Authoress Ramble: Uh - it's been a while. Hope you're not too angry with me. I've had sooo much to do - if you wanna know, I'll tell you in a mail. Finally got a Beta-reader! Great! If I could write you a ton of prasing letters, I would. And while I still have some kind of memory left: this story is dedicated to the one and only Annie! You helped me build this, though you probably don't know how...

**WARNINGS: FROM NOW ON, HUGE WARNINGS OF PEOPLE BEING OUT OF CHARACTER!**

CHAPTER 5

Harry stared at Hermione, looking like a goldfish for all he was worth. Hermione was scowling, arms crossed. Her hair was as brown and bushy as ever, her eyes still the same. She wore a pair of old jeans and a knitted sweater, clearly one of her own productions.

'Harry?' she asked in a tone that made Harry's goldfish-manners flee and a look of pure embarrassment

replaced them. Draco swallowed nervously in Harry's arms, his hands still clutching Harry's hips firmly.

"_It's okay, Draco. Go sit by the table,"_ Harry said and signed at the same time. 'Take a seat Hermione, I'll make you some tea.'

'What's he doing here?' Hermione blurted out as soon as she'd found a chair. 'You _know_ what kind of weekend it is!'

'I - uh - It just - happened,' said Harry as he searched for a clean teacup. 'It's not like I planned it.'

'Really?' said Hermione, sounding both tired and annoyed. 'Be very, very glad that Terry took Jonie with him to get her a banana. I'd have had a fit if she'd seen you.'

'Crap,' Harry mumbled as he put the kettle on, before sitting next to Draco.

'What's going on?' said Draco a bit too loudly. Hermione seemed uneasy and shifted in her chair, looking at anything but the former Slytherin. Harry reached for Draco's hand and signed.

_Hermione's angry with me because I forgot they were bringing Jonie_.

_Why, Harry? Who's Jonie? Are there more people here?_

_Not now, Terry took Jonie to get a banana. I suspect they'll be here any minute now._

_But, who is Jonie?_

The door opened and Harry could hear Terry and Jonie laughing in the hallway. He rose, signing fast in Draco's hand.

_I'll have to find more cups, I'll explain soon_.

'Dada!' squeaked a little girl in the arms of a brown-haired man. She was holding a large banana in her hand and waving it against Harry. 'Nana!'

'Jonie!' Harry beamed. 'How good to see you!'

'Dada, nana,' said Jonie, her brown eyes wide and black hair in a mess. She patted Harry's cheek with a small hand. Harry smiled at Terry and took his daughter in his arms. Terry was watching Draco with slight fear. They walked over to the table, where Hermione was smiling at the little girl. He sat next to Draco.

'Jonie, this is Draco,' he said. 'Wave!'

Jonie waved both her hands, managing to smack Harry on the nose with the banana.

'Daa-koo,' she said and the turned to Harry again. 'Nana!'

'Yes, a banana. You'll eat that in a moment. Say hi to Draco first.'

'Hi,' said Jonie, looking a bit shy.

'Draco can't hear you,' said Harry. 'Like this.'

He took her hand and laid it on top of Draco's. Draco jumped slightly. Harry held Jonie's hand and pulled it down to Draco's fingers and then let Jonie touch the tip of Draco's middle finger. Jonie frowned, but giggled and waved the banana in her other hand.

"_Hi_," Harry said and kissed Jonie's cheek. 'Banana?'

'Nana!'

'Okay. Just a second.' Harry signed with one hand in Draco's. "_That was Jonie saying hi. Can you hold her while I get her a plate? She has a banana in her hand and is waving it a lot." _

'I'd rather not,' said Draco. 'What if I drop her?'

"_You wont. Here, hold her like this._"

Harry placed Jonie securely in Draco's arms, ignoring Hermione's worried look. Then he went to get the kettle, a teacup for Terry (who had sat down next to his wife), a plate and a small spoon. He poured tea for everyone, put a cooling charm on Draco's cup so he wouldn't burn his hand and mashed half the banana.

'Boot?' said Draco suddenly. 'Is that you?'

Terry swallowed nervously.

"_It is,_" signed Harry. "_I'll take Jonie now, so I can't sign for a while._"

They drank the tea in silence; both Terry and Hermione giving Draco uneasy looks. Harry fed his daughter the mashed banana, even though she probably drooled half of it out again. Then Harry handed the now a bit sleepy girl to her mother and took Draco's hand.

_I'm done now, Hemione's holding Jonie. _

'Could you explain what Boot is doing here?' said Draco, quite testily.

"_He's been married to Hermione for almost a year now. Didn't I tell you?_"

'Can you translate?' asked Terry. Harry nodded. 'Hi, Draco.'

'Boot,' Draco recognized, voice loud and cold. 'I thought I smelled you.'

'You - oh.'

'Why are you trying, Boot? Don't bother. You never cared and I don't understand why you would now. No need to translate more, Harry. I'll go to bed for a while.'

With that, Draco pulled his hand back and rose, walking out the room. Hermione stared after him, fright and awe in her eyes. Terry just looked ashamed.

'What was that about?' she asked, handing the half-sleeping child back to Harry.

'We have some history, me and Draco,' said Terry. 'Nothing to worry about.'

'Well,' said Hermione in a way that made Harry wince. They _would_ be talking about it. 'Thanks for the tea Harry. I left Jonie's stuff in the hallway on the table. I'll get her on Monday morning.'

'But -' said Harry.

'I don't care Harry, as long as you don't force her to - comunicate,' Harry scowled a bit, 'with him. It's your mess Harry. You knew I'd bring her here this weekend. I trust you to take care of it.'

'But -' said Harry again, his little daughter yawning in his arms.

'You missed the last time Harry, that's enough. You're her father. Act like it. Come on Terry, we must get home.'

With that, she stalked out of there, Terry mumbling appologizes and following.

* * *

**As for my stories**: My longtime pride, _The Secrets of Dragons_, is currently on hold. In fact, so is _Touch and Go_ too. I quit writing in the begining of June 2005 when my father suddenly died in a heartattack at the age of 46 and I have not yet found the inspiration to continue. I will though, because I love the Potterverse and I love playing in it. Both stories are unfortunately inchohorent and OOC and AU, which means that when I do return to writing, they will be rewritten.

Thank you for all your support and prayers due to the loss of my father,  
- Sanna-Terocia.


End file.
